The Death and Return of Supergirl
by The USS Ficcelsior
Summary: I took a break from Goldfinger 64 to write this harrowing tale of gender equality.


" _Bruce Timm would never let this happen to me!"_

\- Supergirl, 1998

* * *

Supergirl was pulled up of the crumbling gravel pit by the knot in her half-sized cape. Her legs, arms, and stomach were covered with visible welts. She was struggling to keep her left eye open. The blouse of her costume was smeared with extra blotches of red. Her pencil skirt was on the verge of being completely erased. Her cloth gloves were frayed and scorched beyond recognition. Her boots were falling apart from repeatedly kicks and crash landings.

Supergirl felt herself become weightless, rising higher and higher off of the ruined city street. She could feel a pair of flat marble palms slowly pushing up from underneath her spine. Her broken, exhausted frame was being hoisted straight over the head of her ruthless female adversary.

Doomsdame was as worse for wear as her Earth-bound rival. She fought like an unrelenting meteor quite simply because she looked like she had been carved out of one. But her features had become cracked and eroded from a merciless hour-long brawl with an equally powerful opponent. A trickle of black blood was seeping from the corner of her mouth. Her worn and aching arms struggled just to keep up Supergirl's pathetic wisp of body.

She was a head taller than Supergirl and built with a little less than twice her muscular girth, which still made her fairly compact compared to most of her villainous male counterparts. She might have even passed for Supergirl herself from far away and under modest lighting.

Supergirl was being carried toward Lex Luthor. She was being carried toward the horrifying thing that had been dropped in the middle of the street: The Kryliminator. It was designed like a miniaturized metal smelting plant of the future, with a pair of chambers directly connected through a series of pipes and valves. The smaller chamber was filled to the brim with green, black, and indigo Kryptonite. The larger chamber was propped open with a spacious Supergirl-accommodating interior.

Luthor stood beside the contraption with his arms crossed and his head raised in silent applause. Supergirl thrashed in the air like a super-bunny about to be thrown into a super-stew.

"Maid of Might, hmm?" Doomsdame sneered through sparkling graphite lips. "Everyone is going to remember you as the Maid of Misery after this day!"

The chiseled soldieress limped toward the crucible with her flailing offering held high. She tossed Supergirl into her coffin and slammed down the lid.

"That was a tad on the harsh side, wouldn't you say?" Luthor cleared his throat once Supergirl's fate was seal. "You could have just loaded her in without all the extra dramatics."

"I'm a product of my environment," Doomsdame stoically answered. She tilted her head to crack a strained joint in her neck. "Being trapped in a subdimensional Rubik's Cube in the core of a dead black hole longer than Ivan Ooze had his Charley horse can rough a girl up, you know?"

Shrugging, Luthor added, "Say, I could have sworn I've met someone of your intimidating persuasion before. D something or other."

"Never heard of the guy." Doomsdame said in disinterest.

"Big fellow. A little rocky around the jaws. An appetite for brutal physical destruction like yours. I know I've run into your kind before," Luthor insisted.

"I doubt it," Doomsdame said. "The first time we met was when you broke me out of my prism last week."

"No, I'm sure of it. You're exactly like him. You must be related somehow."

"Not likely. I'm a completely original character."

"You're positive?" Luthor asked. "I remember seeing him. It would have been around 1993 or so." He quickly swayed his hand in front of him to estimate the years.

"Impossible. My existence transcends your measly perception of time," Doomsdame said.

"Probably just my imagination, then." Luthor conceded.

The Kryliminator whistled in agony as Doomsdame slowly spun the main valve with her rippled stony arms. The seal that isolated the storage chamber from the occupant chamber opened and mixed the ingredients from both sides in the machine's bowels. If any inhuman shrieks of agony were trying to escape from the furnace, they were instantly drowned out by the deafening sounds of mechanical work.

"And you're sure your space weapon will exterminate Supergirl for good?" Luthor calmly asked.

"This is its only function," Doomsdame said as she rubbed a bruise on her cheek. "Ancient Kryptonian execution method. Throw in a useless lump of iron and it's melted down into nothingness. We used these on all of our criminals. Not a trace of them survived."

"What crime is Supergirl guilty of?" Luthor asked.

"She's committed our most cardinal sin." Doomsdame briefly glimpsed toward her human accomplice, revealing the scheming look in her eyes. "She abused her Kryptonian powers to interfere with another planet's evolution."

"Kryptonians have no choice but to flee to other planets," Luthor politely interjected. "They have no world to return to. Surely the few survivors of your home planet would agree such a law can no longer exist."

"But this simple machine doesn't know that," Doomsdame stated mischievously. She heaved with all of her power to turn the next valve. "This will be the end of Supergirl. It will split apart her Kryptonian body and decimate her Kryptonian molecules. She'll be exposed to all of her Kryptonian weaknesses once the levers are cranked to full Kryptonite power. Her puny Kryptonian life will be no more and her Kryptonian existence will only be a footnote in Kryptonian history."

Luthor nodded lightly in approval.

"I see you came to this planet fully prepared. There's just one small oversight in your plan, Apocalsis."

"Wrong gal," Doomsdame grunted. "She works for Marvel."

"Amygeddon?" Luthor said.

"She's the Amalgam version." Doomsdame rolled her icy eyes.

"Ragnarockette?"

"Not even close."

"Damselday?"

"It's Doomsdame!" She finally yelled. "Now what is it you're trying to tell me?"

"This Supergirl isn't Kryptonian," Luthor quaintly answered.

Linda's fake blonde wig was tossed out of the Kryliminator in a cloud of steam. The entire machine suddenly began to roar in unanticipated noise. Doomsdame held the artificial golden mane—complete with its signature black hairband—in her crushing iron fist, blinking in confusion and slightly raising her brow.

"This Supergirl is an Earthling," Luthor elaborated for her. "You could say she crossed spiritual paths with a Supergirl from another universe who was a Kryptonian, but already dead. This girl accidentally gained all of Supergirl's powers while Supergirl gained a new physical shell. She thinks of this all as some kind of chance at redemption. Suffice to say, she's… _complicated_. I've been trying to acquire her as one of my own devices ever since, but I'm willing to settle for a substitute now that I've discovered such an exquisite creature of your peculiar qualities."

Luthor smirked at her. Doomsdame, seemingly in alignment, smirked back. Then she abruptly shook her head and stomped the wig under her heel.

"This could be a problem." She let go of the Kryliminator's control valve. "This was only programmed to vaporize organisms of Kryptonian biology. I never taught it how to handle _'complicated.'_ "

The machine rumbled violently a second time, then gave out to a full-blown explosion. Whatever insidious process was happening within the Kryliminator's bronze hull was ground to a halt. The noise dove in pitch and subsided as the steam gently wafted to the ground.

A small but focused fist tried to punch through the wall of the Kryliminator. Two seconds later, another fist-shaped dent pushed out from the wall. The sole of a boot tried to kick its way out. Thousands of fists and feet pounded against the inside of the machine, combined with a pair of green lasers that cut straight through the machine's hull. The entire fuselage collapsed to pieces.

Supergirl hovered out of the death cell with the tips of her boots pointed toward the ground. Her wounds were completely healed. Her costume—the same lightweight two-piece she was wearing before, now restyled with an almost all-black repertoire—was completely repaired. Her naturally short brown hair had grown long and platinum blonde, a permanent side effect of accelerated cellular division. Her eyes resonated in constant bright green. The "S" emblazoning her chest now seemed to glow with a faint solar flare. She looked fresh, rejuvenated, and mildly symbiotic.

Supergirl pulled off one of her gloves with her teeth and watched the bolts of static crackling off of her fingertips. She blew on her hand to clear away the excess energy before slipping the glove back on.

Her Kryptonite eyes glimpsed toward Doomsdame, then toward Luthor, then toward the city sprawled behind both of them. Her mind was an aftermath of a cosmic obliteration. Her thoughts were anything but rational.

This all started when she was trying to help Buzz summon a demon to take over the world. Now the superheroine act had ended in nothing short of disaster. Might as well just pick up where she left off. No matter who she was or how strong she became, she always wound up being someone's sacrificial waif.

Doomsdame cautiously walked through the steam to inspect the damaged Kryliminator. Supergirl let her toes touch the ground as she loomed in the mist. The moment Doomsdame was within arm's reach, Supergirl moved.

Supergirl's fist plunged straight through her opponent's ribcage and came out the other side. Doomsdame made a small grunting sound and froze in place, barely catching a glimpse of her killer's face as the steam cleared.

"You shook your little pebbles in the wrong dimension, Rocksteady," Supergirl said coldly. "Now Bebop's back in town."

She swiftly drew her arm back and let Doomsdame's corpse collapse to her feet. She brushed her palms together to clear the blood and dust off of her gloves.

Supergirl turned away from her fallen adversary and started to calmly prowl toward Lex Luthor. A respectful gentleman of many finer tastes, Luthor took much appreciation in the feminine way her narrow skirt creased over her hips and her small blouse was pulled up slightly by the weight of her chest as she walked.

Luthor began to speak as Supergirl stopped in front of him and smiled.

"How do you feel, Supergirl?"

"Like I just survived a second mortality crisis," she muttered.

"Then join me. I have the means to help you. I can teach you to harness your infinite pow-…"

Supergirl's expression changed. Luthor was interrupted by her straightened hand chopping through his forehead and instantly splitting his skull open like an egg. If Vincent Price were still alive, he'd be laughing his ass off right now.

"Sorry, Lex," Supergirl said as she stepped over his body. "The end of the world is a one-woman show."


End file.
